


Praying for Love and Paying in Naivety

by Tangela



Series: Burlesque AU [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Burlesque, First Kiss, Flirting, I'm trash is what I am, Lapdance, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Strip Tease, Stripping, no beta we die like men, this is so self-indulgent, very little plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-14 18:29:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17513708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangela/pseuds/Tangela
Summary: Now when Connor had said ‘bar’, Hank figured it’d be some quiet little place. So of course, he wasn’t expecting a burlesque club. And when Connor had said ‘work’, Hank figured he meant he worked behind the bar or waited tables.No. That’s Connor up on that stage.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU I really want to delve into, but don't quite have the time, (a 50s-style thing where Connor works at a diner during the day and a burlesque club some nights to pay his rent, and Hank's his favourite, and very generous, patron) so for now, you can blame the entirety of A Fever You Can't Sweat Out for this shameless piece of self-indulgent smut.

There’s this diner that Hank goes to. After his divorce, there were a lot of things he’d had to part with, and the cute little café that made the best cinnamon swirls in the world – at least, in Hank’s opinion - was one of them. He’d moved on in the months since, but it was still awkward as all hell the occasional time he bumped into his ex-wife, and so the cinnamon swirls had to be left behind too.

Now this place didn’t exactly match up, but it was a lot closer to his apartment and made a damn good coffee, which was reason enough for Hank. Of course, the staff helped. Well, one of the staff. Hank hadn’t initially meant to spend so much time here, but this one particular person had such a friendly and inviting aura that Hank found himself there more mornings before work than not.

And it’s not like he’s being a creep, Hank has had to tell himself more than is probably healthy. He doesn’t want to sound conceited, but he’s seen how Connor is with the other customers. Friendly, yes, and hardly ever without a smile, but with Hank, well, there’s no other way to put it, he’s downright flirty. Always tends to him first, laughs a little too hard at his jokes, always touching him in some way, patting his arm or grazing his fingers when he passes him his coffee across the counter.

“You should come by the bar I work at sometime,” Connor says casually one morning, writing something on a slip of paper from his little notepad and sliding it across the countertop.

Hank squints at the neat script. The Velvet Lounge.

“Never heard of it,” he says.

Connor picks up the paper, folding it in half, and tucks it into the pocket of Hank’s shirt.

“I think you’ll like it,” he says with a wink.

Hank’s mouth is suddenly very dry. “Uh, yeah, sure. When are you working?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

“Tonight. Be there around nine, if you can make it. You won’t regret it.”

All Connor’s doing is telling him about this bar, so why does everything he say sound so damn cryptic? And why does Hank feel like he’s getting into something far deeper than he means to?

Hank finishes up the last of his coffee before slipping on his coat to leave. “Alright, I’ll, uh, see you tonight?” he asks more than says.

“See you tonight.” Connor smiles widely at him. “Oh, and it’s a classy crowd, so be sure to dress nice,” he calls as Hank leaves.

\--

 _It’s not that big a deal_ , Hank tells himself, _it’s just a bar. Just a bar that Connor works at_.

And it’s not a big deal. Except he’s been telling himself that all day. All through work, it was all he could think about. What did Connor even mean by that?

_He’s probably just trying to wrangle a few more customers. Part of his job or whatever._

But he’d never seen Connor do this with anyone else. And surely if this was part of his job, he’d have flyers? And maybe wouldn’t do it at his other job?

Hank sighs. He’s been trying to get dressed for the best part of an hour now, to no avail. All Connor had said was to dress nice. What exactly did that mean? Something clean with no holes in it, suit and tie? He’d never heard of this place, all he had to go by was the name and street, and when he’d asked at work about it, he’d gotten such a look of shock that for a moment he was convinced that he’d told the person to go fuck themselves instead. That doesn’t bode well for him surely.

Wait. Connor had said classy. That’s a start. He still has the suit he’d worn to a friend’s wedding a few years back. Grey three piece, that’s classy, right? He feels stupid and way over the top before he’s even finished putting the damn thing on, but when he’s done…He has to admit, it doesn’t look too bad. He makes a last minute decision to tie his hair back loosely, and it’s absolutely not because Connor had leaned over the counter once and pushed his hair out of his face to “see what he looked like under there”. He gives himself another quick once-over and leaves before he can start nit-picking.

\--

Hank stands in the middle of the street, looking around him for the third time. There’s nothing here. It’s just a back entrance street for store deliveries. Hank’s starting to feel very stupid. Was this a prank? Connor wasn’t like that, surely. Maybe he got the wrong street. But Hank’s checked the street sign against the piece of paper Connor had given him three times now. This was definitely the place. He’s about to head home when he spots a couple walking along the other side of the street. They’re definitely dressed a little too nice for this time of night in a place like this. He decides to follow them, in the hopes that Connor wasn’t fucking with him and they’re going to the same place. A door opens, one that Hank had completely missed on his first search. A tall, broad man, similar in shape to Hank, holds the door open, and Hank slips in after the couple, immediately greeted by a wall of noise and warmth, a stark contrast to the cold and silent street outside.

The place is small and completely packed out, people of all ages dressed in their finest gathered at the bar and sitting around tables topped with candles in jars. Jazz music lowers the chatter of voices down to a pleasant drone, low-lit lamps and deep velvet panels adorning the walls.

At the centre back of the room, there’s a stage, lit with large lights from above. There’s someone in the centre of the stage, some pretty little thing dressed in a corset and an indecent amount of lace. They turn around, and Hank’s heart stops dead.

Now when Connor had said ‘bar’, Hank figured it’d be some quiet little place. So of course, he wasn’t expecting a burlesque club. And when Connor had said ‘work’, Hank figured he meant he worked behind the bar or waited tables.

No. That’s Connor up on that stage.

Hank can’t stop himself from staring. His mouth is fucking _gaping_. Sweet, flirty Connor from the diner, who’s currently on his knees running a lavish fan made of feathers over himself in the most tastefully obscene way. He rises to his feet far too gracefully, hands sliding up his legs and across the swell of his lace-covered ass. The crowd is eating up everything he has to give them, and Hank can’t bring himself to move, even after more than one person has had to navigate around him. He’s spellbound, completely entranced by the sway of Connor’s hips. At one point, Connor looks up, and their eyes meet. Hank isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do, forces himself to close his damn mouth at least. Connor’s staged smile widens into something more genuine, and he winks at Hank. One of Connor’s tics that Hank’s more than familiar with by now, but in this setting, it’s…

He runs a hand around his hair. He needs a drink, and he needs one now before he keels over from the sheer heat rushing through him. He heads to the bar and orders a double whiskey, knocking it back in one gulp, the intense burn slipping down his throat momentarily distracting him. He’s barely set the glass down when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around to find Connor looking up at him, and fuck, Hank’s gonna need another drink. Connor’s even prettier up close; the faintest tint of powdered blush across his cheeks and those big brown eyes framed with a soft eyeliner.

“Enjoy the show?” he has the audacity to ask.

“When you said bar,” Hank starts, and Connor laughs.

“I know, I know, I probably should have warned you. But I figured you’d be an open-minded guy, and I’d nothing to worry about.”

Hank clears his throat, can’t seem to get his mouth to cooperate. Connor moves a little closer, his fingers brushing the collar of Hank’s coat as he looks him up and down.

“You look good,” he says, as he looks up again. He pushes a stray strand of hair out of Hank's face. “Really good."

His hand slides down to Hank’s chest, and Hank swallows, praying to God that Connor doesn’t notice how he’s reacting to it. Connor’s eyes narrow, and Hank knows he’s fucked. He’s given himself away. Connor’s onto him.

“I think you liked it more than you’re telling me,” he says as he moves closer still, brushing a leg in-between Hank’s. “At least with your mouth, anyway.”

Connor’s leaning in, and Hank can’t help himself, he is too. He knows they’re standing in the middle of a very crowded room, but he’s so lost in whatever spell Connor’s got him under that he doesn’t care.

“I’d like to show my appreciation for you coming to see me,” he practically purrs in Hank’s ear. “If you’ll let me.”

Yes, yes, _yes_.

Hank’s dick has clearly taken the wheel from his brain, and he manages a silent nod in reply.

Connor grins up at him, taking Hank’s hand and leading him to a door off to the side of the stage and into a dressing room, locking the door behind him. The music from the bar is being piped into the room somewhere above them, but it’s much quieter here, and now that he can hear again, Hank suddenly feels even more disorientated than before. He’s had one drink, and he feels as if he’s wasted, fucked up on whatever it is that Connor’s doing to him.

Connor walks him backwards into the couch, and Hank goes without a fight, falling into the soft velveteen fabric. Connor bites his lip, and God, Hank has never wanted anything more in his life than to just pull Connor into his lap and fuck him right there.

Whatever it is Connor’s got in mind, he’s not exactly planning to give it to Hank all at once. He leans forward slightly, hands pressing against the front of his corset, slowly undoing each of the little hooks that hold it in place. He slides it across his skin before delicately dropping it to the floor.

“Much better,” he says, letting out a much breathier sigh than he probably really needs.

Hank’s going to have bruises on his legs in the morning. His hands are gripping his knees so tight that his knuckles have turned white. Judging by the little smirk Connor’s fighting to keep off his face, it doesn’t go unnoticed. He turns, bending down to undo the strap of one of his shoes.

Hank’s not really one to objectify, but an ass that perfect should be illegal, Jesus Christ. Connor slips off one shoe before turning to the other. He nudges them to the side, and without a single word of warning, slides right into Hank’s lap.

Hank looks up at him. He can’t bring himself to speak, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Connor quickly answers that question for him, taking Hank’s hands in his own and placing them on his chest. A soft sigh escapes him as he grinds down, once, into Hank’s lap, and Hank jolts, a sharp rush of heat running through him. His hands run lower, following the curves of Connor’s hips down to the garter belt that he has no right looking that good in, in Hank’s opinion. He slips a finger under the ribbon of elastic holding Connor’s stockings in place, letting it snap against his skin. A soft moan escapes Connor at that, encouraging Hank to do it again.

“Hank,” Connor sighs, looking down at Hank with half-lidded eyes, “Don’t tease.”

Hank tilts his head with an amused frown. “And just what exactly have you been doing to me?”

Connor shrugs demurely. “That’s different. It’s my job.”

Hank raises an eyebrow. “They pay you extra at the diner for that too?”

Connor looks at him innocently, but there’s mischief in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Hank drags his hands up along the curve of Connor’s ass, resting on the small of his back. Connor bites his lip.

“You’re spread out in my lap in goddamn lingerie and you’re still gonna lie to me?”

“What can I say? I’m friendly,” Connor replies with a sly smile.

He jolts forward suddenly with a gasp as Hank’s hand comes down on his ass. Hank’s worried he might have pushed it, even given their current situation, but one look at Connor’s face is more than enough to knock any doubt right out the window.

Connor trails his hands slowly up along his own body, fingers ghosting across the skin of his stomach, his chest, along his neck and into his hair, little hums and sighs escaping him as he goes. Hank feels as if he’s had the wind knocked out of him. There’s something so sinful about Connor, despite his innocent smiles and big doe eyes. And he knows it as well as Hank does. He brings his hands down to rest on Hank’s shoulders, grinding down into his lap with a soft moan. His movements are slow, agonisingly so, and the way his ass is moving is going straight to Hank’s dick. His mouth is close, so very close, and Hank can feel himself about to give in and-

And then Connor’s sliding out of his lap and onto his knees.

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice much hoarser than it was a moment ago.

Connor looks up with an almost devious smile. “I told you, I wanted to show my appreciation for you showing up tonight,” he says, his hands sliding up Hank’s thighs.

He doesn’t look away as he undoes Hank’s trousers, and Hank doesn’t stop him. Can’t stop him. Doesn’t _want_ to stop him. He doesn’t seem to have any control over himself anymore, so he just sits there, watching with baited breath.

Connor taps his thighs lightly. “Help me out?” he asks.

Hank’s so out of it, it takes him a minute. He lifts his hips and Connor tugs his trousers down, just enough to get at what he wants. He gives Hank a little smile before slipping his hand into his boxers.

 _“Oh,”_ Connor murmurs, wetting his bottom lip.

Hank just looks down at him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, it’s just-” Connor shakes his head. “I’m sure I can manage.”

Oh. Right. Hank’s aware that he’s…decently sized, if he’s going to be modest about it. It’s something he’s never really had any doubts about, and doesn’t he feel like a self-obsessed jackass for thinking that? Still, it’s nothing that he hasn’t heard before, but hearing that little “oh” from Connor was…Well, it did the old self-esteem good, egotism be damned.

“I see my performance did a little more for you than I realised,” Connor says casually as he slides his hand gently up and down Hank’s cock.

Hank huffs a breath. “Con, half the fucking bar had hard-ons after your little show and you know it.”

Connor rolls his eyes, as if pretending he doesn’t believe it. Hank slides a hand under his chin, tilting his head to look at him.

“You know damn well what you’re doing, and you’re good at it,” he says lowly, “Modesty doesn’t suit you.”

He leans in to kiss Connor before he can say anything. It’s a little awkward, given their current position, but then Connor’s pushing back, kissing Hank with everything he’s got. It’s desperate and messy, but God is it hot, and Hank’s having a hard time keeping up. He breaks away to catch his breath, resting his forehead against Connor’s.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Connor admits shyly.

Hank sits back a little to look at him properly, having momentarily forgotten all about that hand still on his dick.

“What?”

Connor huffs. “Like you don’t know. Am I as nice to anyone in that dump as I am to you?”

 _I fucking knew it,_ Hank thinks to himself, but instead he says, “I’m not there all the time, I don’t know.”

Connor laughs softly. “I’m not exactly subtle.”

“And here I was under the impression that you were just “friendly”,” Hank retorts with a smile.

Connor doesn’t answer, just pushes Hank back with his free hand. Before Hank can say anything, Connor’s on him, pulling his cock free from his boxers and taking him as far into his mouth as he can. He has a hand at the base of Hank’s cock, the other on Hank’s thigh, gripping softly.

Hank runs his fingers through Connor’s hair, trying to keep his breathing steady.

“God, Con, you feel so good,” he murmurs, and Connor groans, sending a rush of heat right through Hank.

He tugs gently at Connor’s hair.

“So good for me,” he says, testing the water.

Another moan, a little louder this time, and yeah, that settles it. Connor’s got a bit of a praise kink.

He’s picking up the pace now, his head moving up and down under Hank’s hand. His mouth’s so hot and tight and Hank’s quickly losing his composure. He runs his free hand over his face, lost in how good Connor feels, how good he _looks_ , on his knees between Hank’s legs, sucking his dick like he was made for nothing else.

Hank notices the hand on his thigh disappear, and it’s not until Connor moans loudly that he realises. He’s getting himself off too. Hank decides to test that little kink of his a little more.

“That’s it, Connor. God, you feel so good,” he says, his voice a low rumble.

Connor _whines_ at that, and Hank can’t help but laugh. He tightens his grip on Connor’s hair.

“Such a good boy for me.”

Another whine, longer than the last. Hank’s enjoying himself a little too much now.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he all but breathes, and all of a sudden, Connor’s shuddering against him.

He stills for a moment, before resuming his pace, now more determined than ever to make Hank come. It doesn’t take long for that pressure to start building up, and Hank barely has the chance to warn him before he’s gone. Connor just takes it, swallowing and swallowing until Hank collapses against the couch, breathing raggedly.

Connor sits back, dark eyes watching Hank as he lifts his hand to his mouth and licks it clean. Yeah, Connor had been getting himself off, alright.

“You’re unbelievable,” Hank says.

Connor laughs. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but you seemed to like it.”

Hank says nothing, and Connor grins. They both knew he’s won this argument.

“Maybe you’ll come back for the full show sometime,” Connor says coyly, and if Hank doesn’t already feel as though he’s had his brain sucked out of his dick, it’d have been sliding out of his ears right about now.

“Full…show?” he asks, tongue suddenly very heavy in his mouth.

Connor sits up, pulling Hank down to kiss him. Hank can taste both of them on Connor’s lips, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

“This was only the opening act,” he murmurs against Hank’s mouth, and Hank’s dick makes a valiant attempt to get hard again at those words alone. “That is, if you want more.”

“I’ll be sure to get a front row seat, then,” he replies, voice coming out much lower than he means it to.

Connor smiles as he kisses Hank again, longer and deeper, before he gets to his feet, a lot less graceful than before.

Hank looks up at Connor as he tidies himself up. His hair’s all over the place, and he’s made an absolute mess of what little he’s wearing. There’s no way he’s walking out of here without everyone knowing what he was up to. Hank can’t help but feel a little proud of that, if he’s being honest with himself.

“You should see yourself out,” Connor says, “I’m not quite dressed for the public right now.”

Hank stands up. “What will people think if they see me coming out of here alone?”

“Let them think what they want,” Connor replies, and his tone is a little tighter than it was before, “This is my dressing room, and if I want to bring you back here, I will.”

Connor’s cheeks flush pink at what he’s just said, and Hank’s quick to pick up on it.

You, he’d said. Not anyone. You.

Hank presses a kiss to Connor’s cheek, and Connor’s grabbing his arms and pulling him close to kiss him on the lips.

“See you tomorrow for coffee?” Connor asks, and there’s a hopeful hint in his voice.

“Wouldn’t miss it, sweetheart.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hank’s a little worried when he goes to the diner for his usual coffee the next morning. What happened last night was way beyond anything he’s ever done before, and he’s not quite sure of the etiquette of ‘the morning after’. He was married for over twenty years, for Christ’s sake. Does he mention it? Act like it never happened? But Connor had seemed keen for more, more than keen in fact, and if Hank was being honest with himself, so was he. Connor is…God, he’s something else.

  
He needn’t have worried. Connor’s his usual friendly, flirty self; if anything, he’s even more so now. Hank quickly feels his anxiety melt away, and they fall back into their usual routine. Only now, there’s another layer to it. Whatever tension they had before only seems to have grown. Connor can’t seem to keep his hands off Hank, to the point where he’s being told off by the other servers for neglecting customers. Hank can’t help but feel flattered. Still, he doesn’t want to seem too eager, as much as he’s itching to bring up Connor’s next “show”. He’ll leave it up to him. It was his suggestion, after all.

  
A week goes by before it's brought up again. Connor's the one who breaks, and Hank’s honestly impressed either of them lasted that long. It’s a rainy Friday morning, and the diner is mostly empty. Not that it would matter. The place could be filled with people and Connor would only have eyes for Hank. Hank’s not sure if that thought’s healthy for his ego.

  
“Are you free tonight?” Connor asks, and although he appears confident, Hank can hear the slight nervousness in his tone.

  
He pretends to think about it. “Might be. Why?” he asks.

  
Connor smiles. “Well…I’ve got another show, and I was hoping you’d be there.”

  
Hank leans in a little. Not enough to look suspicious – as if Connor hasn’t done enough of that for the both of them – but just enough so that he’s certain only Connor can hear him.

  
“Front row seat, remember?” he murmurs.

  
Connor’s face flushes pink, and he rests his chin on his hand. “Nine o’clock?” he asks.

  
“Nine o’clock,” Hank echoes.

 

His eye catches the clock and he stands up, sliding his coat on.

 

“You’re gonna make me late for work,” he chides.

 

“That’s the idea,” Connor shoots back with that sly smile that Hank’s growing more and more fond of.

 

Hank just laughs as he heads out the door.

\--

He spends most of his work day in a complete daze, going through his duties almost robotically. Thankfully, it’s something of a slow day. He’d hate to have to cancel, especially considering what tonight might entail. He has no idea what to expect with Connor. He’d been invited to see him at work, and had ended up getting his dick sucked in the dressing room of a burlesque club. Now Connor hadn’t told him in explicit detail what a “full show” might entail, but Hank has a pretty decent imagination. Anything’s possible at this rate. He tries not to let that worry him.

There is, however, the matter of what he’s supposed to wear. He suspects Connor won’t care, but he cares. He wants to make a good impression. Although, considering what they’d done together, and Connor was still happy to see him…Yeah, Hank’s sure he’d made a good impression already.  
Still. He spends another hour or so rooting through his wardrobe. He’d pretty much exhausted his catalogue of “classy” on the first night, and he doesn’t think his usual loud print shirts will go down well, despite how “cute” Connor insists they are.

Out of nowhere, the whole situation hits him like a slap in the face, and not for the first time. He sits on the edge of his bed with a heavy sigh. What the hell is he even doing? This is ridiculous. Most men his age buy themselves a new car as part of their midlife crisis, and here he is chasing after some pretty thing barely turned thirty. God, he feels old all of a sudden.

No, he tells himself. I’m not doing this. Not again, and not tonight. Connor seems to really like him. And what has he got to gain from Hank, really? He’s got a fairly well-paying job, sure, but he’s hardly sugar daddy material. And speaking of which, if this is some daddy issues thing…Well, Hank decides the less he thinks about that, the better. It’s just a bit of fun, that’s all. No need to overthink it.

He goes back to perusing his wardrobe, in the hopes of distracting himself from his nagging self-doubt. He finds a rolled-up ball of black elastic in one of his drawers and lets it unfurl. Suspenders are classy, right? He thinks to himself that if this is going to become a common occurrence, he’s going to need to expand his wardrobe. Black silk tie, white shirt, black trousers. He cleans up pretty well, all things considered. Connor’s definitely giving him an ego. He ties his hair back before he leaves, slipping on his coat and a scarf.

Wait. He heads back into his bedroom, to the bedside table. There’s a box of condoms at the back of the drawer, they’re still good for another year or so. He slides one into his wallet, and immediately feels like a teenager again.

Real classy, he thinks to himself, before shrugging it off and heading out.

\--

Hank actually makes it at nine o’clock this time, now that he knows where he’s supposed to go. The club’s as crowded as it was last time, but there’s an empty table right at the front, with a folded piece of card on it. He chances a look.

_Reserved for H._

That’s Connor’s neat script. He smiles to himself as he puts the card in his pocket and takes a seat.

Now that he’s seen what Connor’s work entails here, Hank thinks he’ll have an easier time of it this time round. But the second he steps out onto that stage, all hope of maintaining any kind of composure goes right out the window. Connor’s dressed in a deep blue corset, pulled tight to show off his lithe waist, with a lace garter belt, stockings and underwear to match. Satin gloves cover his arms well past the elbow, and he hides the lower half of his face behind a large feather fan as he’s greeted with a chorus of applause and wolf-whistles.

Hank feels as if he’s burning up just looking at him, and judging by the conversations he can hear from the other tables, he knows he’s not the only one.

“I envy whoever he goes home to at night,” he hears a woman gush to her friend with a giggle, and he fights off the urge to laugh at his own damn good luck.

Then the music changes and Connor starts his routine, and Hank suddenly doesn’t want to laugh anymore. How anyone can still maintain that look of innocence while moving so obscenely is beyond him, but it seems to come naturally to Connor. Each little smile and flutter of his eyelashes has the club eating right out of the palm of his hand, and Hank can tell he loves every second of it. He was made for the stage.

It doesn’t take him long to notice Hank sitting in front of him, and with one hand on his hip, he leans over to blow him a kiss. Hank can feel his face burning, and he pretends to cough into his hand, averting his eyes in the hopes that Connor will stop looking at him.

That only seems to encourage Connor more. He shuts the fan in his hand with a snap, trailing it up along his thigh as he watches Hank, before opening it back up to flutter demurely across his face as he walks across the stage, hips swaying as he goes. Hank sees the grin before he turns around, showing off the criss-cross of satin against his back. He begins to sink down low, and then lower still, looking over his shoulder with his hands pressed to his legs before rising to his feet again, fingers trailing up the backs of his thighs and across his ass. Hank’s mouth has gone very dry. Connor is _sinful_ , and not only does he know it, but he revels in it.

Hank’s certain that Connor’s trying to kill him, but he has to be honest with himself, there are far worse ways to go. He’s already had to drop his scarf in his lap so no one can see his shame. Judging by how awkwardly some of the men around him are sitting, he’s not the only one struggling. He needs Connor off that stage and in his dressing room again. In his lap, bent over the arm of the couch, _whatever_. He just needs him, whatever way he can have him, and the sooner the better.

Mercifully, Connor only lets him suffer for so long, taking a gracious bow to rapturous applause. He makes sure to catch Hank’s gaze, eyes quickly darting in the direction of his dressing room and back. Hank nods once, and Connor bites his lip, taking another bow before he heads offstage.

Hank waits until the rest of the crowd start leaving to get drinks and talking amongst themselves during the intermission before he gets up, trying not to make it too obvious where he’s headed. He slips behind the door marked ‘Backstage’. The hallway is thankfully empty, and Connor’s already waiting for him in the doorway of his dressing room. He steps aside, letting Hank in and locking the door.

“Well?” Connor asks, a small smile playing on his lips. “How was it?”

Hank slides the scarf from his shoulders, tossing it onto the couch. “What, not even a hello first?”

“Where are my manners?” Connor teases. He walks the short distance to Hank, wrapping his hand around his tie and pulling him close. “Hi, handsome.”

“You were magnificent,” Hank says truthfully, brushing his nose against Connor’s.

Connor grins at him, sliding one hand down Hank’s front to his crotch, squeezing lightly. “Oh, you _did_ enjoy it.”

Hank clears his throat in an attempt to strangle the noise threatening to escape him at Connor’s touch. Connor’s tongue slides across his bottom lip. His fingers are trailing lightly against the outline of Hank’s dick, and there’s really only so long Hank can behave himself if he's going to keep doing /that/.

Connor pushes Hank’s coat off his shoulders. His mouth quirks upwards when he sees the suspenders, running his fingers along the length of them.

“Now this I didn’t expect,” he says, but he sounds far from disappointed.

“Well, we all have our secrets,” Hank replies with a chuckle, trailing a finger along the lace holding Connor’s corset together. “Some bigger than others.”

Connor looks up at Hank innocently as he walks Hank towards the couch. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hank just lets himself fall back. Connor watches him as he delicately pulls at the tips of one glove, sliding a finger into his mouth to pull it off with his teeth. He tosses it aside before doing the same with the other glove.

He slips out of his shoes, placing his foot on the small section of the couch between Hank’s thighs. He meticulously undoes each of the metal clips holding the stocking in place, pushing it down and off his leg, dropping it to the floor as he starts on the other.

Hank isn’t sure if this is his idea of heaven or hell. On one hand, Connor is devastatingly beautiful, and although this isn’t exactly their first time doing this sort of thing together, Hank can’t help but feel privileged to be privy to it. On the other hand, having to sit and do nothing while Connor teases him like this…It’s downright torture. He wants to touch, wants to feel, wants to take Connor apart at the seams and put him back together again.

He takes a long breath in through his nose. He can wait.

The garter belt goes next, and it joins the slowly growing pile of clothing on the floor. Hank barely has time to register just how blatantly aroused Connor is when Connor’s turning around and falling to his knees. His hands reach around to the back of the corset he’s still laced tightly into, fingers tugging gently at the bow of ribbon.

“Can you help me?” he asks, his voice a soft murmur.

Hank frowns. “Can’t you just open it from the front?”

Connor looks over his shoulder. “I want you to do it.”

And who is Hank to argue with that? He leans forward, trying to ignore how uncomfortably hard is right now. He takes the ends of the ribbon from Connor’s hands, gently tugging it through each of the holes. He slides a hand up to Connor’s shoulder and pulls him back. Connor goes willingly, a soft hum escaping him as Hank’s lips press against the bare skin between his neck and his left shoulder.

He drags his hands down the length of Connor’s back, running a finger along the elastic of his underwear. Connor doesn’t stop him, just leans forward, and Hank takes that as his cue to continue. He slips a hand under the elastic, and stops when he feels something he wasn’t expecting under his fingers. Is that…?

“...Is that a plug?” he asks, breath hitching in his throat.

Connor looks back at him. He at least has the decency to look a little embarrassed about it.

“Might be,” he replies.

“How long have you had this in?” He can’t imagine Connor would have had the time to do this between finishing onstage and coming back here to wait for him. Which means…

“Since before I went on tonight,” Connor admits.

Hank laughs lowly. “Greedy little thing, aren’t you?”

A little whine escapes Connor at that. “I didn’t want to wait.”

“Oh, like you’ve been making me wait all night?” Hanks asks.

The last of the ribbon comes free, and the corset falls in pieces to the floor. He slides his hands down Connor’s now bare front.

“You’ve been teasing me all night, Con,” he murmurs, voice low in Connor’s ear.

He trails his hands back up, and a sharp gasp escapes Connor as Hank’s fingers brush against his nipples.

“Driving me crazy,” he growls, sliding a hand up gently to Connor’s throat. His pulse is thumping wildly under Hank’s fingers.

“I can make it up to you,” Connor whispers, pressing himself into Hank’s hands.

“Is that right?” Hank asks, nipping at Connor’s ear.

Connor nods.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get to it.”

Connor doesn’t need to be told twice. He turns around to undo Hank’s trousers and the metal clips of his suspenders carefully, tugging his trousers down around his thighs. He tries to climb into Hank’s lap, and Hank shakes his head.

“Off,” is all he says, gesturing to Connor’s underwear.

Connor lets out a whine. “But you’re still dressed.”

“I thought you wanted to make it up to me,” Hank retorts.

Connor looks at him, defeated, slipping the lace from his hips and dropping it on the floor. His face is quickly turning pink, but he doesn’t try and hide himself.

“Happy now?” he asks with a pout.

“Very. Now come here.”

Hank holds out a hand and Connor takes it, letting Hank pull him gently into his lap. Connor’s barely got himself settled when Hank’s on him, pressing a hand to the back of his neck to pull him close, nipping and sucking at his skin. Connor whines, pulling back every time Hank bites a little too hard.

“I won’t leave any marks, don’t worry,” Hank murmurs, and Connor immediately relaxes, pressing himself closer to Hank’s mouth.  
  
Hank’s hands are at Connor’s lower back, straying down to his ass. He presses a finger against the base of the plug and Connor jolts.

“This is getting in my way,” Hank murmurs, and Connor manages a nod. He reaches around and slowly pulls the plug free with a wince, letting out a shaky breath as he drops it with a soft _thump_ to the floor.

“Good boy.”

Connor bites his lip at that. Hank pulls his wallet free from the back pocket of his trousers. He retrieves the condom and opens it, somehow managing to push his boxers out of the way and get it on with Connor still in his lap, albeit awkwardly.

“Good to see this isn’t your first time,” Connor teases.

Hank pulls a face at him, but he smiles. “Are you really in any position to be giving me shit right now?” he asks.

Connor doesn’t even get a chance to argue as Hank wraps a hand around his cock. His touch is light, teasingly so, but it’s more than enough to work Connor up even more.

“Hank, please,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss Hank again as his fingers work to undo his tie.

Hank doesn’t stop him, focusing on dragging as many of those little sighs out of Connor as he can. All Connor’s trying to do is undo the buttons of Hank’s shirt and already he’s struggling.

“You’re deliberately trying to make this hard for me, aren’t you?” he asks, biting back a soft moan as he pushes Hank’s shirt off, soft hands mapping the planes of his skin.

“Well, that’s the idea,” Hank replies, sliding his hand down to the base of Connor’s cock and squeezing gently.

Connor arches his back with a gasp, pressing himself against Hank’s chest. His hands are on Hank’s shoulders in an attempt to steady himself, nails biting into the bare skin.

“Hank…” he murmurs, dragging his name out in a soft whine.

“What?”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

Hank brushes his nose against Connor’s, tilting his head when Connor tries to kiss him.

“Why don’t you ask nicely and _maybe_ I’ll consider it?” he asks with a sly smile.

Connor frowns, but Hank can see the flush of pink across his face.

“Please,” he says at last.

“Please what?”

Hank has to admit, he’s enjoying himself. Probably more than he should be.

“Please fuck me,” Connor mumbles.

Hank pulls a face. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Please fuck me,” Connor says again, a little louder.

Hank smiles at him.

“Was that so hard?” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to Connor’s mouth. He leans back, tapping Connor’s leg. “Well? Are you going to make me do all the work?”  
Connor quickly catches Hank’s meaning, and lifts himself up onto his knees, reaching underneath himself and lining Hank’s cock up with his hole. He sinks down slowly, letting out a sharp gasp as he takes all of him in.

Hank bites back a hiss. He didn’t expect Connor to be so tight, _Christ._

“Show me how much you want it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking Connor’s chin in one hand to kiss him.

Connor nods, grinding down once, and the noise that escapes him is probably one of the most beautiful Hank’s ever heard. It doesn’t take him long to find a rhythm, gasps and moans escaping him as he fucks himself on Hank’s cock. Hank knows he’s being lazy, but Christ, Connor is _gorgeous_ like this and he feels so fucking good. He at least has the good will to get his hand on Connor’s dick again, stroking him in time with his movements. It’s not long before Connor’s tensing up, and Hank knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“Come on, Connor, be a good boy and come for me,” he says, and with a breathy cry, Connor’s gone, coming over Hank’s hand.

Hank doesn’t take much longer – he’s honestly surprised he’s lasted as long as he did, considering how long Connor had dragged this out for him.  
Connor all but collapses against Hank, running a hand through his hair as he tries to catch his breath. Hank’s not much better, slumped into the couch and completely fucked out. He eases Connor out of his lap and onto the couch.

“You got a bin in here?” he asks eventually, breathing still a little ragged.

Connor points in the vague direction of a little wastepaper basket. Hank stands up, tidying himself up and disposing of the condom as neatly as he can manage. He sits back down next to Connor, who’s pulled Hank’s scarf into his lap to create the smallest illusion of modesty.

“Come here,” Hank says, stretching out an arm across the back of the couch as he sits down.

Connor looks up with a smile, pressing himself to Hank’s side as Hank wraps an arm around him.

“I was wondering…”

Hank pauses, unsure as to how to word what he wants to say.

“Yes?” Connor prompts.

“I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me sometime.”

It comes out in a rush, and Hank barely understands what he said himself. Still, he can’t help but feel a little offended when Connor bursts out laughing.

“You know, a simple ‘no’ would suffice,” he says with a huff.

Connor shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not that, it’s just- After all we’ve done, and you’re nervous about asking me to _dinner_? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m still completely naked.”

“I know, but it’s…I didn’t want you to feel pressured into anything beyond…whatever it is we have right now. Not that I don’t enjoy this, of course I do, it’s just…Well, I want to get to know you better. With clothes on. Not that I don’t like you with no clothes, it’s just- Fuck.”

He’s not making much sense, he knows he’s not.

Connor moves a little closer to him, resting an arm across Hank’s stomach. “It’s just dinner, it’s not a proposal. Besides, I like you. It’d be nice to get to know you better,” he says sincerely.

The emphasis on ‘like’ doesn’t go unnoticed, and Hank feels his face growing a little warm.

“I’d love to,” Connor insists, smiling up at Hank somewhat shyly, despite everything.

Hank’s not quite sure what this is that they have – it’s not exactly the order of how these things tend to go, at least for him – but for now he just accepts it for what it is, pressing a kiss to the top of Connor’s head as they enjoy each other’s company for a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not in the least bit sorry for this.
> 
> Tumblr: @maybeishouldwritesomething


End file.
